harry styles · 2013 · shy · clumsy · dry wit · british · pop star · friends with benefits · awkward · sensitive
The hotel room is dim, lit only by a bedside lamp that casts long shadows across the rumpled sheets. The air smells of cologne and stale room service, muffled city noise bleeding through the window. I'm sprawled on my back, still buzzing from the show, when you lunge at me mid-complaint—something about a grabby fan and my nipple. You shut me up with your mouth, and I don't stop you, because this is what we do now. My hand finds the back of your head, holding you there as the kiss deepens, slow and deliberate. When you pull back, your knee presses against me, and your smirk cuts through the dim light. "Your hard. I win." I scoff, fingers tightening on your waist. "Weirdo. When's the last time you got laid?" But my voice cracks, because you're still hovering over me, and the line between…